AN ODE TO A SOUL

          I won’t start with a hi or hello. This is for you, my friend. I won’t mention your name because that word doesn’t matter now. In fact, it didn’t mean much even when you were in your bodily form. But, I just want to ask you a question. “How can you leave me here and go somewhere, bastard?” People say you are dead. I don’t know. In fact, I can’t understand. Death means you are not here in this world. If it is true, how will I be sitting here typing this for you? Pat me now. Give me a thumbs up so I can continue.

          How ironic it is, indeed! What you said to me some time back has really happened. “I don’t know when we will get to see each other again. Anna University and affiliated college people have varying holidays.” I won’t cry, don’t worry. That’s how you wanted me to be. Ever – smiling… Jubilant… Ecstatic... I don’t know why my eyes get weary. Eye defect; maybe. I am a human being; of course. Or, are you really not around? I am confused. I mean, is that it? You are gone, eh? No. No. Nooo. How can that ever happen? Sometimes, this engineering mind tends to think crooked. So, you are somewhere here only. You should be. Else, how could I have gone to a treat at a posh hotel even after hearing you are gone? How could I have survived almost 50 hours? Don’t leave me like this. I feel like a boot without a pair. How much ever costly it can be, it doesn’t make sense. Come on, dude. Don’t try to play this game with me.

          People say I behave differently. Yeah, I agree. You wanted me to be different. But, this difference has another implication. My friends say these are bound to happen. I would have to walk alone in the sands of time with nobody near me some day. ‘Some day’ doesn’t mean this day, right? Is 19 the age to leave your body here? Hey, don’t create unnecessary waste here by leaving the flesh empty and futile. There are already enough garbage in the Earth. You were against pollution. So, how do you think the burning of your skin would never become a cause for it? At least now, come back. Fill in that 165 cm physique with your soul.

          So, you still don’t want to reveal yourself and come, face me. Don’t hide, you coward. I want to kick and beat you up severely for scaring me. Some darkness seems to surround me. Oh, that’s because of the shadow of the mountain. I run farther. The darkness comes with me, embraces and grips me. You don’t want your friend to be tormented, nah? You want me to be fine and rocking. So, why the hell do you delay? Come now.

          I don’t wish to enter into the waves of the beach the next time without you. Don’t dry up just like the splashes of water droplets in the body after coming out of the tides.

                   “Each second and minute goes by, on and on….

                    But, I don’t think you’re gone;

                   In search of you, my buddy, for that day

                   When you and me can join hands and play.”

          Allow me to sleep, pal. I need some rest. I am exhausted. Don’t disturb me always. I am selfish, at times. On one side, my rationalistic mind says, “Alas, you didn’t even see his final remains.” I reply, “Why should I? Nothing is final. He is bluffing. He loved to play hide and seek, fucker. Without knowing the seriousness, he is just kidding.”

          Don’t fail me. Come back. There are still movies to be watched, places to be toured, girls to be flirted with, matches to be watched, peaks to be reached. If you can’t accompany me in any of these, at least, make me believe that nothing happened two days back. You didn’t overspeed at the turning. You didn’t ram against the barricade. You didn’t fall off your vehicle. The lorry didn’t crush you…….

                   “Solitude and sorrow fill me to the core,

                    And, I find it hard to keep myself on track;

                   Treading the coarse sands of the shore,

                   I believe you will soon be back.”

CALLING IT A DAY...

          “Come home this weekend, at least. Else, don’t come even for the semester holidays. Neighbors would be asking who you are.” This was mom’s mock – anger in phone. To be frank, I wanted to get home at the earliest. But, the festivals kept on coming, as it is the case during even semesters and I didn’t want to miss anything.  For hostellers, getting back home becomes a prestigious issue. People who tend to go home every weekend are seen as toddlers usually. Hence, I also wanted to live up to it and controlled my curiosity. Over three to four weeks, this yearning continued to dwell and finally, I decided to go, telling my roommate, “Dude, I don’t want to get back there at all. It would be futile and boring. However, mom wants me to come. There’s no way out.”

          After a tiring bus travel, the dinner satisfied me. And, mom informed me that the next day (Saturday) was going to be her last working day at LIC, Cuddalore. Yeah, she had been promoted and was transferred to Vrudhachalam. She asked me to come to the farewell party the next day since dad wasn’t in a position to attend it due to his work commitments.

          In the morning, mom wore a new silk sari which her women colleagues had gifted her. She told they wanted her to wear it that day. Her words came out in a fancily emotional tone. She reminded me to come in the noon and left along with dad. I had my own agenda for the forenoon and went there at about 1:30. Mom was in a hurry without having any valid reason. She walked from one corner of the office to the other in a frantic pace. I could see the vehemence in her movements and she was constantly telling me, “Go and eat. Lunch is being served in the other room over there.” The usual calm woman in mom had disappeared and she became tensed unnecessarily for shortage of plates, which would have been handled in a placid way. To some of her mates, she asked more than thrice the same question. “Have you eaten? Was the menu okay?” Since it was a half – working day, customers had left by then and only the employees were present.

          Finally, when lunch session was over, the formal meeting started at around 2:15. There were almost 50 people gathered in the hall and one man started addressing them. Mom was seated at the centre but she seldom faced the people. Her trademark smile was missing and she kept seeing emptily towards the ground. Five or six spoke one by one, appreciating mom for her active involvement in multifarious activities. Mom’s usual broad grin in response to such kudos with some marked shyness was visibly absent. She was evidently controlling tears and her eyes were soaked in red as if applied with too much glycerin.

          Many people, from the range of mutual acquaintances to very close ones, gifted this or that to her. She had earlier asked me to take some photographs and as I focused the crowd, I could see an extra – ordinary calmness in there. Nobody stood, moved or conversed and some could be seen wiping their tears and trying to smile falsely for the photo. When all started praising her for the immense service she had done during Tsunami relief, I cursed myself for thinking her as a useless person wasting time in good – for – nothing activities.

          Finally, when mom spoke in acknowledgement, I came to know that she had joined duty in the year 1991. 24 years at the same place! Exactly the same period that Sachin Tendulkar was active in the cricket arena. “My life for 24 years between 22 yards, it’s hard to believe that that has come to an end”, echoed in me. The only difference was that was Sach’s retirement while this was mom’s relieving function. As mom uttered a line or two, one of the women sitting amongst the crowd, closed her mouth with a towel and left the place in a hurry. When she came back after 10 minutes or so, it was clear she had cried a lot. Her face was wrinkled badly and she seemed to have come out of continuous insomnia. By then, mom was crying even more. She pressed her teeth very hard so that the words came out in an effective manner and was thanking all her compatriots again and again.

          After the vote of thanks, there were some informal pictures to be snapped. When two ladies came near to congratulate mom one last time, they hugged each other and wept uncontrollably. They had become a family and the branch was mom’s home for almost half of her life till now. Mom apparently wished to prolong the sentimental day by distributing some old files and documents to the people concerned. She kept checking her bag repeatedly for something. She walked towards the place where lunch had been distributed and asked the peon to disburse the vessels to the catering people properly. He nodded, staring at me. She must have told him the same thing, I thought.

          In the present scenario of industrialization, globalization and so many other tions, is it possible to work with the same organization for more than 5 years? People want to belong to the society of elite and keep switching jobs every now and then. The end result would be luxury with loneliness and monetary benefits with mental problems. Can one gain this type of hug and emotional farewell in this corporate world?

          On the flipside, I thought about my college life. Almost half of it has flown by without me noticing the count of days. Mahn, two years have gone and in the next two years, I would have to leave CEG. I don’t know how it would be. A thought of getting debarred and starting afresh so as to enjoy it right from the beginning went through my mind. If one woman can arouse these many feelings, it’s going to be the parting of almost a thousand people at a time, on the same day. Tears fell of my eyes and I wanted to forget it. The only way of consolation is WHWEREVER WE GO, LET’S BE IN TOUCH.

SCHOOLING 'AUTO'MATED...

          I have always made it particular to go to my school premises whenever I come back to my hometown. Meeting the teachers, watchmen, canteen anna and sweeper aayaas always feels good. Especially when some daily wagers out there say, “Wherever you go, please take time to come here and see us”, tears tend to shed out. This is the school that taught me to be independent; that lifted my aspirations; that improved my social awareness; that transcended me to the next level. Most of the so – called schools of practical knowledge never allow students to think critically, expose themselves to competitive environment et al. For them, competition is nothing but scoring more marks than the compatriots. Oops, this school sentiment always affects me to such an extent that I speak more about it. Let’s shift to the topic now.

          For most of the school – goers in Cuddalore, auto is the primary mode of transportation. In my two years in Chennai, I have never seen jam – packed auto – rickshaws bustling their way towards the school campuses, let alone one or two, with the chatter of students overcoming the noise of roaring vehicles in the traffic signal. Those who haven’t traveled by auto and cycles have almost missed more than a half of their schooling.

          I studied my primary classes in St. Joseph’s Mat. Hr. Sec. School, which is in the adjacent street to my home. When my parents said they wanted me to write entrance examinations for another school, its full name infused some sort of fear in me – the Arcot Ramasamy Lakshmanasamy Mudaliar Mat.Hr. Sec. School, shortly ARLM. Of course, I cleared it with relative ease and was ready to enter a new world. But then, I didn’t know that friendships would affect me a lot and take a toll on me.

          An auto driver, who had the routine of taking students from Koothapakkam, my locality, to Manjakuppam, where my new school was located, agreed to take me along with some 10 - 12 others (!!) First of all, I didn’t like the notion of clinging on to a vehicle which had twice the usual load. Secondly, that school took the hell out of me with its strict restrictions of Spoken English, with secret spies being appointed to complain about the defaulters to the Vice – Principal. Thirdly, I missed my old school badly. There were some differences between those two – my old school gave me freedom to play tic – tac – toe in the playground and eat there, spilling and spreading all rice onto the sand; but, this was strictly restricted here. I didn’t have to board an auto and travel for almost 40 minutes; I could very well get ready at the last five minutes and run in no time.

          But in the course of time, I got used to the patterns of ARLM, mostly due to the bliss of traveling by auto. This three – wheeled vehicle became my home in motion for five entire classes from 6^th to 10^th. Prayer would commence sharply at 9:30 and we had to be there at least 15 minutes prior to that. I was the 4^th to get in to the auto at 8:35. As the others got in gradually, there would be this routine of fighting for a place at the front because those who sit at the back seats had the additional burden of carrying some kindergarten children on their laps. Then, there were this differences regarding the right and left seating at the front. While the left seat provided the elegant, comfortable posture, with the perk of no – load – on - lap, the right was meant to give a rough, rogue – kind of look, which is the ever – favorite way of getting a girl, as shown in movies. The person who sat at the right had some assigned duties to be taken care of. He had to see that the vehicle doesn’t ramble with another at signals; he had to horn during traffic; he had to run right – royally into the house to get another fellow if at the sound of the first horn, he/she is not there. And, he who is at left would have to start the auto by lifting that rod with great force so as to ignite the engine. Most importantly, only those at the two sides of the front got the flamboyant chance of getting down when the auto stays in motion. And, the throne was provided mostly to students only after their 8^th grade.

          Now, let’s see how an auto looks at its full strength. Four students would occupy the back seat with any two of them owning the responsibility of seating their juniors on their laps. There is an additional facility called the baby seat, which gives room for four other kindergarteners. Further, two at the front seat in addition to the driver himself would make it up. In addition, bags would be filled to the core at the small space provided for speakers. Some of which, which didn’t fit in there, would be placed near the starter, due to which the person at left would have some minor difficulty. Plus, there would be lunch bags near the foot of the back – seaters. Most of the on – lookers would curse the driver and our parents for not taking care of us, but then, they didn’t matter. It was the thrill, the joy that accounted.

          There were crazy nicknames for some people. One guy, who wanted the corner seat forever, made his mom speak with the driver. From then on, he was known as Piles, courtesy his inability to sit in the middle. The Piles Meme and one – liners became very famous in our school as his classmates began calling him with this new name. It went to such an extent that our Physical Education teacher warned me of suspension if I called him Piles. There were at least one soda putti in every auto, indicating the spectacled ones. In the course of time, that name became extinct as almost everyone started wearing glasses.

          There was another guy, who would always get the help of his uncle to place his bags inside, even after coming to the higher secondary classes. His uncle, unfortunately, didn’t get married, and there was a gossip that he didn’t want a lady to disturb his affection towards this guy. So, this chap was rightly named Chithapa (father’s younger bro). I was called Iyer, as I didn’t give room for any nicknames. I had to see that mom and dad didn’t seem to be too careful and loving towards me, at least in front of my auto mates.

          And, the last day of a particular class was fun – filled. I have muddled my last subject of annual examination mostly due to my imaginations and plan for the decoration of auto. There was this superiority in glossing the vehicle, which had carried us for the whole year, with balloons, ribbons, color papers and stickers. This would always result in a quarrel on which hero’s stickers had to be stuck in front. As inking others’ shirts and mock fights were strictly banned, we had to make sure that our secret equipments were hidden comfortably in order to escape the eagle’s view of the staff assigned with this duty. Moreover, this was the egoistic clash among the drivers, where prestige would be at stake. Some cautious drivers would not take their wards to the beach and they would become the centre of mockery that day by the other drivers and also students. And, the drivers got us hot bhajjis, yummy ice – creams, potato chips and so on. That one day eliminated the societal barrier between a driver and a student. We all came together as a single entity.

          Yesterday, after getting in conversation with the staff that shaped me, I went to the auto stand of the school in search of my beloved auto. I wanted to sit there at the front at least for a few minutes, blow that green horn that have out the ultrasonic baam – baam noise. Disappointed on not finding my auto, I didn’t wish to make my desires satisfied in some other vehicle. Surrogate mother won’t become mother at any cost, eh? I stood there simply for some time, noticing the happy students ready to enjoy the weekend climbing in. Drivers, however harsh they may be, are pure, poor souls that play the mediators between home and school. They are one of the responsibilities of students to come out with flying colors. They are stagnant for this noble cause while we go different places. Each time I wear my khaki for laboratory, I recollect that bald man with long, majestic mush, scolding me to get in soon so that it doesn’t get late to school.